OLIVIA
God, this was awkward.
Without the leader breathing down my neck, I was left in silence so thick it suffocated me.
None of them resumed the interrogation, but I sensed their questions, their doubts.
After a minute, the big one at the door also dipped out, his absence only heightening the tension.
I almost wanted to do something absurd, like break into a chant, just to provoke a reaction.
Real mature, Molly said.
The dark-haired menace who’d stolen my chocolate proceeded to flip through my binder with agonizing indifference.
Everything I had was in that binder. Not just Molly but my own doodles and pathetic footnotes.
I’d even painted little broken hearts on the back cover with nail polish because I was feeling sorry for myself.
At his quiet huff of amusement, I resisted the urge to leap over the table and tackle him.
I wanted to guard my binder like a mother dragon, but I knew that was stupid. And likely suicidal
Also not mature.
Shut up, I snapped. With a small huff, I sat down in my chair and placed my hands primly in my lap. I would be good. Prove I wasn’t a threat to them, whoever they were.
But then the dark-haired menace chuckled again, and my temper flared. Molly’s diary wasn’t exactly flattering for me. She’d been downright brutal sometimes, recalling every pimple-related meltdown and awkward-puberty mishap like she was studying me. I was the primate to her perfect.
I sat on my hands before I did something drastic. Finally, after a long agonizing eternity, I broke.
“Did he invoke a code of silence or something?”
There was a beat where I thought no one would respond. Then the girl spoke. “Or something.”
The look she gave me was dripping with disdain.
I was no stranger to that look—usually it was accompanied by a sweet smile and empty compliments, right before they stabbed me in the back.
I’d been popular all my life. I had security, money, and privilege.
I didn’t blame them for hating me, but I also wasn’t a pushover to it.
“You guys here for business or pleasure?” I asked sarcastically.
It was the pretty boy who spoke. He was closer to my comfort zone—well-groomed, aristocratic-looking, with really good teeth.
“Oh, pleasure. We’re here to catch some sun, surf, and sex.
” He flashed his perfect teeth at the unimpressed girl beside him.
“We were long overdue for a vacation, right, babe?”
“Don’t call me babe.”
“I thought you liked it. Fine. Love of my life, sun of my galaxy, buster of thy mighty balls—what would you prefer?”
“Silence.” But there was fondness in her voice. She accepted the loud smacking kiss he blew her before she returned her attention to me. “We’re not telling you anything until the boss comes back.”
“You can’t even tell me his name?” I kept my tone light, like I didn’t care either way. The look she gave me, all eyebrows and pursed lips, told me I wasn’t fooling anyone.
Her fratty boyfriend shrugged. “He-who-shall-not-be-named will be quite miffed if we did. You are still a threat to our whole operation. We usually eliminate threats.”
My mouth went dry. It must’ve shown on my face because the kind guy with the sunflower bandana on his neck scooted over to the chair beside me. “You can call me Ry.”
“Like the bread?”
“Sure.” He grinned at me. He was like bottled sunshine, and I felt myself thawing on the inside. “And don’t worry. We’re not killers. Well, not…intentionally.”
“What does that mean?”
Fratty boy leaned forward and laughed. “It means if you trip and, say, fall down the stairs, it’s ruled as an accident.”
“Oh.” Funnily enough, that didn’t inspire much confidence.
I dragged my eyes to the large window at the head of the room.
The sun was high, the green alien world thrown into bright technicolor.
I could see the ocean on the horizon, a dark blue lip that was both taunting and comforting.
I was losing precious hours. There were still the lower floors to search, plus the creepy basement.
I shot a discreet glance at the chocolate-thief—I wanted my knife back. I felt naked without it.
Not moving won me some brownie points because when the leader returned, I was gifted the smallest of smiles.
Well, it was more a grimace than anything, but I would take it.
My stomach flipped like it did every time I looked at him.
He was attractive in a roguish way, with his hair falling into his eyes, his two-day stubble, and his sharp, angular bone structure that made him look effortlessly intense, almost feral.
He was a guy who didn’t put people at ease, who probably had a foul temper and punched walls, and who never settled down.
I imagined bringing someone like him home to my parents, just so they could combust in shame.
He didn’t sit down again. “We’re going to talk.”
“Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?”
His smile returned, a bitter imitation but still a vast improvement. “Alone,” he said. He patted his pocket. “Come on. I need some fresh air.”
Fresh air was apparently code for chain smoking.
He led me to a nearby balcony just off one of the handful of sitting rooms and lit up a cigarette without saying a word.
I wondered if it was some kind of obscure interrogation tactic—the longer he smoked, the more anxious I felt, the harder I stared at the purse of his lips as smoke curled between them.
Catching me in the act, he offered me one.
“Oh, no, thank you.”
He snorted. “She doesn’t smoke. Shocker.”
“Is it?”
He leaned forward, bracing one elbow on the railing, and turned toward me. “You’re clean,” he said. “Prissy.”
My mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”
“Exactly.” His grin was cocky and savage. I wanted to punch it.
I crossed my arms, and his eyes dropped to my chest shamelessly. Prissy, he said, but it didn’t stop him checking out the goods. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I’m good at reading people.”
“Go on,” I said, goading him. I knew it was a bad idea, like inviting the stalker into the house for tea. My instincts told me to run. His arrogant grin made me stay. “Give it your best shot.”
He took the challenge, cerulean eyes raking over every inch of me. I didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t even breathe.
“Money,” he said. “Lots of it. Gated community. Trust fund, a big one.” His brow quirked up tauntingly. “Prom queen.”
My cheeks flushed. “Lucky guess.”
“Not a virgin,” he went on, blowing smoke in my face. “But not anything crazy in the sack. Probably fucked the same dude since high school. Jock type. Meathead.”
I scrambled. “That’s—”
“You want me.”
My jaw clicked shut. It took a full minute to pry it open. “I do not.”
“You do. You want me the same way a Stepford wife wants the barely legal pool boy. You want to earn the attention instead of it being handed to you.”
I swallowed my retort, refusing to rise to the bait. I wanted to. God, I wanted to hiss and snarl and tear him to shreds.
Eager to prove him wrong, I stepped into his space and watched his eyes widen in surprise. I plucked the cigarette straight from his mouth.
“You forgot head cheerleader,” I said sweetly, taking a hard drag.
Truthfully, I did smoke occasionally, usually after a delightful dinner with my parents, so I didn’t do something drastic, like set the house on fire.
But I hadn’t had a cigarette in a few weeks, and it showed.
My throat burned. “So, what are you going to do with me?”
He recovered quickly, looking bemused. “What do you want me to do with you?” The innuendo was thick.
I rolled my eyes. “Knock it off. It’ll never work.”
His answering grin was full of mischief. I should’ve known he’d take it as a challenge. “Never say never.”
“Not in a million years.”
He laughed and looked up at the sky, swiping his hair from his eyes. He went quiet for a moment, thinking.
“I have a proposal for you,” he said, and my brain shorted, smoke clotting in my throat and making me cough. Stupidly, my mind went to a fantasy of him on one knee. Idiot. Not that kind of proposal.
He fished out another cigarette and lit it up.
“What proposal?”
“I want to buy you.”
“Are you—what the fuck?” I choked again and decided the cigarette was too much of a hazard. I’d made my point anyway.
But when I tried to flick it away, his hand snapped out and caught my wrist. I watched in bewilderment as he stuffed the butt, still warm, into his back pocket.
“It’s how it sounds,” he said.
“Why did you just do that?” I waved my hand at his ass. It was a nice ass. Firm, muscular—stop.
He hesitated. “It’s… nothing. Just a habit.”
“Are you worried about DNA?” I knew that couldn’t be the case since I was pretty sure he had already thrown up in the bathroom.
“I don’t want to litter,” he said, but he avoided my eye.
I laughed, because what? “How very eco-conscious of you.”
“Shut up,” he groaned.
“Do you also recycle? Invest in renewable energy?”
His shoulders tightened defensively, and I knew I should stop. He wasn’t someone you wanted to push too far.
He took a deep breath, tension bleeding away bit by bit.
“I’ll be blunt,” he said, sounding calm even as his hand tightened on the railing. “We work for a dangerous man. He sent us here to steal a painting worth a hundred million.”
“Okay,” I said.
He looked at me expectantly. Was I supposed to be impressed? I shrugged. That much money was probably shocking to someone who didn’t grow up like I did.
“We usually receive a portion of the loot. It’s dependent on the big guy’s mood, if he’s feeling generous. Usually it’s around ten percent.”
He watched me for another beat. “Ten percent of a hundred million is ten million. We split the money between us after we launder it. Use what we need when we need it.”
“Wait a second.” My eyes bugged out as it finally sank in. “You are a millionaire?”
He smirked. “Didn’t think we were in the same tax bracket?”
“Please. Like you pay taxes.”
He grinned at that.
I snorted, exasperated by him. I returned his sweeping assessment with one of my own. “You look like you shop at the dollar store.”
He shrugged indifferently. “So what if I do? Socks are socks.”
I knew he wasn’t someone who shopped ironically, not like the frat boy hipsters who thought it gave them an edge.
I eyed him in a new light, the ripped jeans and thin black t-shirt that clung to his muscled torso like a second skin.
His boots were so discolored it was hard to tell whether they were originally black or brown.
A traitorous part of me liked it.
He shifted closer. “See something you like?”
I refused to be flustered by his proximity. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“I’m offering you a cut.” He blew out a harsh plume of smoke. “I’ll give you fifty grand, and you keep your pretty mouth shut. We never cross paths again.”
“Why give me anything?” I asked, reeling. “You could just kill me. Not that I’m, like, vouching for that. It just seems suspicious.”
“What, you don’t trust me?”
I shot him a pointed look. He grinned again and tossed back his hair, and I hated the way I noticed his arms, the way his bicep flexed. There was ink scrawled on it. Callum. Was that his brother? A son?
“We don’t kill people,” he said casually. “At least, not anyone who doesn’t strike us first.”
“How noble of you.” I bit my lip, wondering why the hell I hadn’t fled yet. He’d just admitted to killing people. Self-defense or not, his morals were clearly murky.
Instead, I asked: “So, then, what’s the catch?”
“I just told you. You forget us. We forget you.” At my dubious look, he rolled his eyes. “And she said she bribed a cop. You couldn’t hurt a fly, princess. I’m surprised you made it this far.”
Indignation swelled in my chest. I knew he was deliberately provoking me.
Testing my reactions. He wasn’t just flirting—he was unraveling me, trying to understand how I ticked.
I took a calm, measured breath and gave him a cold look.
Typically, that only made him grin wider.
“I don’t accept your terms, and I don’t want your dirty money. ”
His grin didn’t waver. If anything, he seemed unsurprised, like I’d just walked straight into his trap. “What do you want, then?”
I straightened my spine and made him wait while I considered my words carefully. He wanted to buy my silence and throw money at the problem. That was an average Tuesday in my social circles. I knew how to play the game.
The golden rule was never to show your interest. Never appear too keen. A person easily bought was just as easily conned.
“Salvadore is hiding something,” I said. “I want you to help me find it.”
He made a disagreeable sound. “I’d rather you take the money.”
“I don’t want or need it.”
Smoke puffed harshly from his mouth as he considered it. “Fuck. Fine. I’ll give you until sundown. But you hold whatever we find until my crew and I are in the wind. I don’t want them anywhere near this dumpster fire.”
“Deal.” It took every morsel of my willpower not to preen like a fat cat.
My victory was pathetically brief.
“What will you give me?” Jax asked slyly, turning it around on me. And he called me a swindler.
“My silence.”
“We both know I still hold the advantage,” he said, licking his lips, looking hungry. “You’re small and outnumbered. You have no power here. I could tie you up and leave you here. You’ll stay silent that way.”
I stared at him in disbelief. Despite his teasing tone, I knew he was dead serious.
“I’m good at knots,” he added, like he couldn’t help himself. His eyes dropped to my mouth. “And gags.”
My face heated. “F-fine. What else do you want?”
His head tilted, considering it at length. I tried to see my worth through his eyes, but it was hard. He was right—I was at a disadvantage. He could very well tie me up and abandon me, or worse, shoot me. He practically oozed violence, and the feral look in his eyes unnerved me.
“So many things,” he said slowly, heavily. “I’ll let you know when I pick one.”
That was unacceptable. “You can’t just—”
“Times up.”
I stuttered. “What? I—”
“We’re burning daylight, princess. You want my help, you got it. I’m done with the foreplay.”
‘Foreplay?’ I mouthed incredulously. He was unbelievable. My head was still reeling when he extended his hand. I stared at it dumbly. Eventually, he laughed and took my hand and placed it in his own for the world’s limpest handshake.
When I realized what was happening, I snatched back my arm like he had an infectious disease. “I don’t like you.”
“I’ll get over it.” He turned to the doors, but I couldn’t let him leave just yet, not when I felt so wrong-footed. I needed to tip the scales back in my favor. “Can I at least know your name? You know mine.”
His grin bordered on filthy, like he knew exactly what I was doing. “You can call me Jax.”